The Brand of Silence

by Harrington Strong

  CHAPTER II

  THE GIRL ON THE SHIP

  Sidney Prale folded the piece of paper carefully and slipped it into hiswallet. Winning a fortune in ten years in a foreign country had taughtPrale many things, notably that everything has its cause and effect, andthat things that seem trifles may turn out to be of great importancelater.

  He finished his packing, locked the suit case, put on coat and hat andwent out upon the deck. The _Manatee_ was docking. A throng was on thewharf. Prale glanced at the buildings in the distance and forgot for thetime being the scrap of paper, because of his happiness at being homeagain and his eagerness to land. Returning to New York after an absenceof so many years was in the nature of an adventure. There would beexploring trips to make, things to find, surprises at every turn and onevery side.

  The passengers were crowding forward now, preparing to go ashore. SidneyPrale picked up his suit case and started through the jostling crowd.Already those on board were calling greetings to relatives and friendson the wharf, and Prale's face grew solemn for a moment because therewas nobody to welcome him.

  "Not a friend in the world," he had said to Rufus Shepley that morning.

  "A man with a million dollars has a million friends," Shepley hadreplied. "The only trouble is, you can't enjoy that sort of friendsexcept by getting rid of them, unless you happen to be a miser."

  Well, that was something, Sidney Prale told himself now. He had amplefunds, at least, and perhaps he could enjoy himself after ten years ofbattling with financial sharks, of inspecting and working mines, ofcutting through dense forests and locating growths that could be turnedinto wealth.

  Prale put his suit case against the rail to wait until he could moveforward again. He looked down at the throng on the wharf, and up anddown the rail at his fellow passengers. Then he saw the girl again!

  He had seen her before. The first time had been at Tegucigalpa, at aball given by some society people for charity. He had known her at oncefor an American, and finally had obtained an introduction. Her name wasKate Gilbert, and she lived in New York. It was understood that she wasof a wealthy family and traveling for her health. She was accompaniedonly by a middle-aged maid, a giant of a woman who seemed to be maid andchaperon and general protector in one.

  That night at Tegucigalpa, Prale had talked to her and had danced withher twice. He judged her to be about twenty-eight, some ten yearsyounger than himself. She was small and charming, not one of thehelpless butterfly sort, but a woman who gave indication that she couldcare for herself if necessary.

  Prale had been surprised to find her aboard the _Manatee_, but she hadtold him that she was going home, that her health had been muchbenefited, and that she felt she could not remain away longer. It hadseemed to Prale that she avoided him purposely, and that puzzled him abit. He could not understand why any woman should absolutely dislikehim. His record in Honduras was a clean one; it was known that he didnot care much for women, and surely she had learned that he was a man ofmeans, and did not think he might be a fortune hunter wishing to marry aprominent heiress.

  He had not spoken to her half a dozen times during the voyage. She madethe acquaintance of others aboard and, for the first few days, had beenbusy in their company. The last three days had been stormy ones, andKate Gilbert had not been much in evidence. Prale judged that she was apoor sailor.

  Now she stopped beside him, the middle-aged maid standing just behindher.

  "Well, we're home, Mr. Prale!" she said.

  "I suppose that you are glad to get home?"

  "Surely!" she replied. "And I'll be angry if there are not half a dozento meet me when I land. I've been trying to spot some friends in thatcrowd, but it is a hopeless task."

  "I hope you'll not be disappointed," Prale said.

  As he spoke, he glanced past her at the middle-aged maid, and surpriseda peculiar expression on the face of the woman. She had been lookingstraight at him, and her lips were almost curled into a sneer, while hereyes were flashing with something akin to anger.

  Prale did not understand that. Why should the dragon be incensed withhim? He was making no attempt to lay siege to the heart of Miss KateGilbert. He was no fortune hunter after an heiress. The expression onthe face of the maid amused Prale even while he wondered what it couldmean.

  "Picked your hotel?" Kate Gilbert was asking.

  "Not yet, but I hope to get in somewhere," Prale told her. "May I be ofassistance to you when we land?"

  "Marie will help me, thanks--and there will be others on the wharf," sheanswered.

  A cold look had come into her face again, and she turned half away fromhim and looked down at the crowd on the wharf. Sidney Prale lookedstraight at her, despite the glare of the middle-aged maid. Kate Gilbertwas a woman who would appeal to a majority of men, but there seemed tobe something peculiar about her, Prale told himself. He knew that shehad avoided him purposely during the voyage, and that she had spoken tohim purposely now, yet had asked nothing except whether he had chosen ahotel.

  Why should Kate Gilbert wish to know where he was going to stop? Perhapsit had been only an idle question, he explained to himself. In herhappiness at getting home, she had merely wished to speak to somebody,and none of her shipboard friends happened to be near.

  He turned from her and glanced at the maid again. She was not the sortto be named Marie, Prale told himself. Marie called up a vision of apetite, trim woman from sunny France, and this Marie was nothing of thesort. She appeared more to be a peasant used to hard labor, Praledecided.

  And he could not understand the expression on the woman's face as shelooked at him. It was almost one of loathing.

  "Got me mixed up with somebody else, or somebody has been giving me abad reputation," Prale mused. "Enough to make a man shiver--that look ofhers."

  Kate Gilbert, apparently, did not intend to have anything more to dowith him. Smiling a little at her manner, Prale lifted his hat, pickedup the suit case, and turned away. Once more he tried to force a passagethrough the jostling crowd. He had not taken three steps when KateGilbert touched him on the arm.

  "Pardon me, Mr. Prale, but there is something sticking on the end ofyour suit case," she said.

  Prale glanced down. On one end of the suit case was a bit of paper. Ithad been stuck there by a drop of mucilage, and the mucilage was stillwet.

  He thanked Kate Gilbert and picked the paper off, but he did not throwit over the rail into the water. He crumpled it in his hand and, when hewas some distance away, he smoothed it out.

  There was a single word written on it, in the same handwritingas that of the note he had found pinned to the pillow in thestateroom--"Retribution."

  Sidney Prale glanced around quickly. Nobody seemed to be payingparticular attention to him. Kate Gilbert and her maid had passed himand were preparing to land. Prale put the piece of paper into his coatpocket and picked up his suit case again. That bit of paper, he knewwell, had not been on the suit case when he had left the stateroom. Ithad been put there as he had made his way through the crowd ofpassengers along the rail. Who could have stuck it there--and why?

  Now the passengers were streaming ashore, and Sidney Prale stepped toone side and watched them. Perhaps he had some business enemy on board,he told himself, some man he had not noticed, and who was trying tofrighten him after a childish fashion. He searched the faces of thelanding passengers, but saw nobody he had known in Central America,nobody who looked at all suspicious.

  "Either a joke--or a mistake," Prale told himself again.

  He started ashore. He saw Kate Gilbert just ahead of him, the bulky maidat her heels. An elderly man met her, but did not greet her as a fatherwould have been expected to do. Prale saw them hold a whisperedconversation, and it seemed to him that the elderly man gave him asearching glance.

  "I must look like a swindler!" Prale mused.

  Finally, as he went out upon the street to engage a taxicab and startfor a hotel, he saw Kate Gilbert and her maid and the elderly man again,getting into a
limousine. The girl held a piece of paper in her hand,and was reading something from it to the elderly man. As she got intothe car, she dropped the piece of paper to the curb.

  The limousine was gone before Prale reached the curb. He put his suitcase down and picked up the piece of paper. There was nothing on itexcept a couple of names that meant nothing to Sidney Prale. But hiseyes bulged, nevertheless, as he read them.

  For the paper was similar to that upon which had been written the notethat he had found on the pillow in the stateroom--and the coarsehandwriting was the same!

  "What the deuce----" Prale caught himself saying.

  Had Kate Gilbert written that message about retribution and had her maidleave it in the stateroom? Had Kate Gilbert written that single word andhad her maid paste it on his suit case as he passed, or pasted it thereherself?

  Why had Kate Gilbert--whom he never had seen and of whom he never hadheard until she appeared at the ball in Tegucigalpa--avoided him in sucha peculiar manner? And why had the misnamed Marie glared at him, andexpressed loathing and anger when her eyes met his?

  "What the deuce----" Prale asked himself again.

  Then a taxicab drew up at the curb, and he got in.